


Father's Joy

by Angels_Stole_the_Impala (FourCornersHolmes)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abigail McClaine is a Novak, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angels, Bad Parenting, Crowley lives! - Freeform, Demons, Destiel - Freeform, Established Crowley/Bobby Singer, Everybody Lives, Family Don't End in Blood, Good Parent Castiel, M/M, Nephilim, Sabriel - Freeform, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/Angels_Stole_the_Impala
Summary: The name Abigail means “father’s joy”, which is ironic, because Abigail McClaine’s father had wanted a son and didn’t hide the fact. He let her know in countless ways how disappointed he was about having a daughter. When Abigail is sixteen, she runs away from home and finds her way, eventually, to Lebanon, Kansas. Her adventures were hardly beginning when she ran away, and Lebanon holds adventure, danger, and...family?





	1. Wayward Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever SPN fic, and all our dearly beloved idiot boys (the Winchesters and their Angels) feature!

* * *

The name Abigail means “father’s joy”, which is ironic, because Abigail McClaine’s father had wanted a son and didn’t hide the fact. He let her know in countless ways how disappointed he was about having a daughter. Ever since she was a little girl, he had blamed her for not being a boy, for not liking things boys traditionally liked, despite her passion for everything from Hot Wheels to LEGOs.

She loved fast things and tinkering and grew up playing “boy” sports like soccer and basketball. She played with GI Joe action-figures alongside Barbie, she loved The Avengers and spent whole afternoons pretending to be Thor and Captain America and Hawkeye and Black Widow and Loki.

She wore princess dresses with combat-boots,  played in the mud until she was covered head-to-toe, played pirates and cops-and-robbers as the “boy”. She was a tomboy in all the ways that mattered, but it wasn’t good enough. It was never good enough.

And when her mother got pregnant when Abigail was sixteen and the doctors said it was a boy, things got so much worse. Abigail’s room was turned into the new nursery, she got the guest-room, which meant she didn’t even have her own space when they had company over. Everything she did, and didn’t do, was criticized. She cried herself to sleep more night than she cared to count, usually on a narrow cot up in the attic after her grandmother moved in to help her mother towards the end of her pregnancy. When the baby came at last, everyone was thrilled and they all congratulated Abigail, saying she would be a great big sister and wasn’t it so exciting to have a little brother now, and on and on and on about her baby brother, her father’s long-desired son. They named him Christopher Winston McClaine and he was the star of the family. No one asked how Abigail was doing, it was all about the baby. Abigail didn’t matter anymore, if she ever really had.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, the gas-lighting and abuse, and packed up a few of her things. Some clothes, a few books, her phone and it’s charger, her laptop and _it’s_ charger, her passport, driver's permit, and a few hundred dollars in cash she had been saving from odd jobs she did around the neighborhood. Then she waited. Everyone was so wrapped up in plans for the baptism they hardly paid attention to Abigail, which was fine with her. The night before, after dinner and everyone had gone to sleep, she crept out of her attic cell and snuck into the nursery. It wasn’t her brother’s fault, it really wasn’t, and he was too young to have any memory of her at all. Leaning over the crib, she kissed him on the cheek.

“Grow up and be a good person, Chrissy.” She whispered to her slumbering baby brother, “Don’t turn into Dad, please. Be a good person, be kind, love your daughters if you have any.” Hearing footsteps outside, she froze. As the door creaked, she dodged under the crib and went completely still. A crib-skirt surrounded the bottom, so she was completely concealed from view, which turned out to be a very good thing when she heard her father’s voice.

“Thought I heard some noise in here, Christopher. Was that you, little man?” He cooed, all love and warmth and affection. It was heartbreaking that Abigail couldn’t have that, too. She covered her mouth with both hands so she wouldn’t make any noise and waited, shaking, until he left the room again. After making sure the coast was clear, she snuck back up to her room and collected her bags. Escaping out a window, she climbed to the ground, forced to jump a few feet. Landing hard, she tucked and rolled, and got up quickly. Scaling the back fence was easy, and soon she was walking away from the house that had never really properly felt like home. She hadn’t left a note or anything, and it would probably take a while for anyone to realize she was really, truly gone and not just being obstinate. That was fine. Just fine. More than fine. Picking a direction, Abigail started walking. She walked until sunrise and kept walking until she got tired. She stopped for lunch at McDonald’s, paid in cash for her meal, ate, and moved on. No one asked questions or looked at her funny. She was curious to know what it would take to get someone’s attention.

\---

Between a bus ticket and hitchhiking, Abigail made it from San Jose to Goodland, Kansas. The bus got her to Denver, Colorado, hitchhiking got her to Goodland. When she got to Goodland, she stopped. It was far enough for her, 1512 miles lay between Abigail and the life she’d left behind. Getting food was her first order of business, finding shelter was next. She turned down a few offers to point her towards affordable hotels, she’d find something. Something turned out to be a beat-up old Chevy Impala, a ’67 model. This car had been loved and driven who knew what kind of places. Abigail circled the car a couple of times before she slim-jimmed the locks and let herself in. It was at least warm, even if it wasn’t really that comfortable. But Abigail had slept on the equivalent of a cot, so this was actually pretty nice.

It was daylight when she woke up again, having slept quite well, and it was the sound of voices that did the job. Abigail was huddled under two blankets and a sleeping bag and her head was covered with her hoodie, so she wasn't immediately visible.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam.”

“You see this.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it alive?”

“Probably.” Something prodded her shoulder, hard, and Abigail poked her head out to look.

“Hey!” She rolled and smacked away whatever had been used to jab at her, she wasn’t an animal and wasn't about to be handled like one either.

“It’s a girl!”

“The _hell_ are you doing in my car!” Her way out in either direction was blocked, and Abigail realized she’d been caught by the car’s owner. She didn’t get very far and when the shorter of the two (shorter being relative, both men were well in excess of six foot tall) grabbed her by the arm and spun her on her heel, one hand closing tight around her wrists, Abigail crumpled, sobbing.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please! Please don’t…please don’t hurt me! Don’t…please don’t call the cops on me! I’m sorry I broke into your car, I just…I needed a place to sleep!”

“Hold it, kiddo.” The grip on her wrists loosened and she huddled on the asphalt, hoping to Christ these people wouldn’t call her parents. Or the cops, for that matter.

“Please…please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“What’s your name, kid?” The hand that had been on her wrists now rested on her shoulder, “Hey, can you talk to me a minute? Sorry I screamed at you like that, just wasn’t expectin’ somebody sleepin’ in the backseat of Baby is all.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Um, look.” Sam must’ve been the taller, slightly-skinnier one, with longer messier hair. He had Abigail’s backpack and he’d found her wallet.

“That her driver’s license?”

“Looks like it. Permit, actually.”

“Abigail…McClaine. Huh.” He rattled off the rest of her information from the permit and came back her way. She didn’t look up at him, but she watched his boots come into view. Blue-jeans, tattered and stained but still clean, biker-boots, heavy-duty, and she didn’t dare look higher.

“Hey, kid. Can you look at me a minute, please?”

“Please, please don’t hurt me!”

“Is this you, Abigail?”

“What?” She raised her head and saw a phone-screen. On it was…a picture of Abigail. The kind of picture they put on those “Have You Seen Me?” missing-persons flyers. Underneath was a description of her hair-color, eye-color, race, age, date-of-birth, date-last-seen, and what she’d last been wearing. She had changed clothes in Denver, but everything else was spot-on, and she still had her coat and the Baja hoodie, which she’d slept in last night.

“Oh, please, don’t make me go back!” She didn’t mean to grab his hand, but she couldn’t help it, “Please!”

“Jesus, kid, take it easy. What’re you so scared of?”

“I…I ran away!”

“And I take it you’re in no big hurry to go back wherever you came from?”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir!” He laughed, a friendly sound, his eyes sparkled. He had very nice eyes, very pretty green eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not a sir! Why don’t you get up, we’ll go get breakfast, and you can tell us what you want us to know?”

“O-okay. You’re not going to tell my parents? Call the cops?”

“Nope! Listen, I’ll let you have Shotgun if you want.”

“What?”

“Front seat for you, kiddo!” The tall shaggy one grinned, “You’re lucky!”

“Oh. Okay.” They situated her stuff in the backseat, and she sat in the front seat with the green-eyed man while the other one sat in the back.

They drove to a restaurant called the Butterfly Café and stopped for breakfast. Their names, they told her upon asking, were Dean and Sam Winchester.  They were brothers, and they travelled all over the country for their work. Abigail explained her plight, told her story, and the boys traded a look.

“Damn, kid.” Dean frowned over the rim of a coffee cup once she had told them everything. “No wonder you don’t want to go back!”

“I’m just a no-good runaway who wasn’t wanted.”

“No, you’re not!” Dean set his cup down, his expression grim, “Don’t _ever_ say that! You’re not defined by that, Abigail, I promise! If you want a place to stay, you can stay with us. The work’s not always the best, but we can at least give you a place to live.” When she asked what they did, they explained that they hunted monsters. Demons, shapeshifters, skinwalkers, witches, Djinn, angels, witches…it was all in a day’s work for them.

“So, you’re monster hunters or something?”

“Well, yeah.” Dean smiled, “Not glamorous work, but it’s work.” Abigail couldn’t imagine hunting monsters for a living, it seemed like such dangerous, dirty work, but anything was better than the life she’d left behind in San Jose. She was in no position to judge the Winchesters because of what they did for a living. They had been kind to her and instead of turning her out or calling the cops on her, which they had every right to do, they had offered her the chance to stay with them for a while at least. She’d gotten a free hot meal out of the bargain, so she had no complaints. Dean was funny, and Sam was smart, and she felt...safe. Maybe even wanted.

* * *

 


	2. Smiting Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and the Winchesters run into a bit of trouble in Goodland. It's quickly handled, and the boys learn something about their new stray.

* * *

After breakfast, which Dean paid for, they left the café and returned to the Impala. The hair on the back of Abigail’s neck prickled and she felt goose bumps on her arms.

“Hey, Dean?” She didn’t want to sound the alarm on nothing, but she had the feeling they were in trouble. What kind was uncertain, but there was something coming.

“Shh.” Dean put one hand on her chest, holding her back, “Quiet.”

“What is it?”

“Not sure. Hey, Sam.”

“Yep.”

“Damn. I thought I felt something.” Dean muttered, looking around the immediate vicinity.

“Angels?”

“Nope. Doesn’t feel right.” Dean looked at Sam, then at Abigail, “Sorry, sweetheart, looks like you get a taste of what we do.”

“O…okay.”

“Here.” He threw up the lid of the trunk and rummaged inside. Abigail peeked over his shoulder and gasped.

“Whoa.”

“Let’s see, a blade’ll do you fine, I should think.” He looked her up and down and went into a different part of the compartment. After some searching, he came up with a long metal blade that he looked over once and handed to Abigail before going back to rummaging.

“Whoa.” Abigail held the knife in her hands, “Is this an Angel Blade?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve…never held one before.”

“How do you know what one looks like?”

“I saw it in a book once. I thought my dad was going to kill me he was so mad when he found the book.”

“Jesus. Well, just don’t get yourself killed now, kiddo.”

“Okay.” She gripped the blade tight and felt a tingle in her fingertips. There was something about her that was different, bad different. She had noticed if she got really upset, things happened. These incidents had led to her being called “freak” by the rest of her family, which had only added to her misery.

When they were approached by two men and a woman, Abigail gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. She hated it when she looked at someone and saw what wasn’t really there. Creatures with claws and teeth and indefinable shape. These were not people. These were monsters. Demons, if she had to put a word on it. When the woman addressed the brothers, Abigail heard a scratchy, hissing voice.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Winchesters.”

“Can we _help_ you?”

“And…ooh.” She heard a sniffing sound and whined, holding the blade tight and keeping her eyes closed. “A _Nephilim_! Oh, that’s just delightful!”

“Excuse me?” Dean snarled, “What’d you mean a Nephilim?”

“Your pretty little friend.”

“Abigail? She’s a _kid_! I know Angels, I think I’d know a Nephilim if I saw one!” Dean reached behind him and grabbed Abigail by the wrist.

“Get the Half-Breed.” The woman said, snapping her fingers. Faster than Abigail or the brothers could react, one of the men had grabbed Abigail and dragged her away from the Winchesters.

“No! No, please!” She struggled against the demon, who was stronger than she and unafraid to use his greater strength. “Let me go! Please!”

“Oh, aren’t you a pretty thing?” The woman chuckled as Abigail stumbled to her knees, “What a treat! Two Hunters and a Nephilim! It must be my lucky day!”

“Abigail!” Dean yelled.

“Please…p-please don’t…please don’t hurt me!” Abigail pleaded, refusing to look at the woman. Her Angel Blade had been lost during the struggle, she had no defence. A hand tightened in her hair, she felt the claws digging in and cried out.

“Look at me.”

“Please!”

“Look. At. Me. Nephilim filth.” Her head was yanked back and she looked up at the demon holding her at its mercy. She couldn’t make out any defining features, even this close, her vision was blurred with tears and the excruciating pain. The boys had been likewise subdued, but the demons had been forced to fight dirty.

“Don’t…you touch that girl! Hands off of her!” Dean growled. “Get off me!”

“Tsk. Why do you care about the girl?”

“Dean! Please.”  
“Kill them both.”  The woman jerked her head at the brothers. “We’ll make her watch.”

 “No!”

“Hey, Abigail.”

“No!”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Dean was smiling, even on his knees with a demon over him ready to kill him. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” She couldn’t find the words to object and just sobbed. Abigail felt claws digging into the back of her neck and reached back to grab the demon by the wrist, struggling to get out of her grip. Her fingertips tingled and she felt warm. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip.

“Let go of me!”

“Watch. Them. Die.”

“No!” She snarled, feeling the warmth spread from somewhere under her solar plexus to the rest of her body. Her vision started to fade to white and she closed her eyes. She had taken self-defense classes and used her training now to get away from the demon holding. Using her body as a weapon, she flipped the demon off its feet and pinned it to the ground, ignoring the flailing limbs, the scrape of claws digging into flesh. With a shriek, smoke burst from the demon’s mouth and dissipated in a haze, and its entire body lit up from inside out. The shrivelled husk of the body lay under her hands, but she had no time to worry about it. Wiping blood from her face with her sleeve, spitting it on the ground from her mouth, Abigail scrambled for the fallen Angel Blade and lunged to her feet, charging at the demons holding the brothers. They weren’t expecting the attack, reeling still from their leader’s death, and she made short work of them. One fought back, and she tussled a bit. He flipped her onto her back and pinned her, but she still had her blade and as his clawed hands closed around her throat, she managed to get the blade up between them and stabbed him in the gut. Black smoke and blood poured from his mouth and the wound in his gut, and she shoved him off, rolling over so she was on top of him, and drove the blade of her knife into his throat up through his skull. Like the other two, his body was lit up from inside out and he shrivelled up into nothing. Exhausted and shaking, and covered in blood, Abigail collapsed, gasping for breath.

“Abigail! Holy shit! What was that?!” Dean was at her side in a heartbeat, “Shit! Jesus, are you okay?”

“Dean?” She tried to focus on him, but she was in pain and her head wouldn’t stop spinning. “I don’t…feel so good.”

“I’ve gotcha, kiddo. I’ve gotcha. Just take it easy, relax. It’s okay now, it’s over.” He gathered her into his arms and held her, “Jesus Christ.” She heard him giving orders to Sam, but didn’t have the strength to open her eyes again. She was wrapped in something and lifted, set down again. Her fading sense of smell told her they were back in the Impala, a rumbling vibration told her the car had been started.

“Just hang on, Abigail. We’ll get you home. Just hang on for me.” Dean said, one hand resting on her shoulder. The touch startled her, but she didn’t pull away from him. He stroked her bloody cheek, brushing her hair out of the way, and she tried to get closer. His touch felt nice. Before she passed out, Abigail managed to get her head into Dean’s lap, and decided he made a very nice pillow.

* * *

 


	3. Lonesome Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes care of Abigail and has a talk with Cas. Their family's about to get a little bigger.

* * *

Dean Winchester looked down at the injured teenager passed out on his lap. He was trying to make sense of what had just happened. Before leaving the café, he had called Bobby, who had promised to get some people out there to clean up and asked all sorts of questions. He always did. Of course, it hadn’t helped at _all_ that Crowley had answered Bobby’s phone, but for once Dean was willing to put up with the insufferable prick. Former crossroads demon, former and current King of Hell, Crowley was a very unusual character and more or less part of the family. He’d also had Sam call Gabe and Cas, just to let them know they had a wounded Hunter with them, and there was a pretty good fucking chance she was a Nephilim. Abigail McClaine was a pretty girl, lost without direction and running from a home-life that sounded awfully familiar. Dean got the feeling there was a lot more to her story than she’d told them, but not because she’d deliberately kept it from them. She honestly didn’t _know_. Well, with any luck, there would be time to piece the puzzle together and figure out exactly who, and what, Abigail was.

Three and a half hours later, they returned to The Bunker and Dean carried Abigail inside once he had the Impala parked in the garage. There was no sign of the Angels, but he suspected they weren’t too far away. Carrying Abigail to the Infirmary, he set her down and carefully removed her torn and bloodied clothes while maintaining the girl’s dignity. Washing away the blood, he was a little surprised to notice that her injuries were already beginning to heal. She had taken on and smoked three demons, including a very powerful demon most people couldn’t handle by themselves, and he was beginning to suspect Ophiel had been right about Abigail. If she _was_ a Nephilim, it wasn’t safe for her to just be wandering around without protection.

 As he stitched up her wounds to help the healing process, Dean heard the door of the Infirmary open. He glanced up and smiled before bending to his task.

“Wondered when you’d show up.” He stifled a chuckle at the dirty look his Angel shot him.

“You knew exactly where I was, and exactly what I was doing.”

“Gotta give you a hard time, Cas.” He heard Castiel rummaging around and look up. “Can you bring me some water and clean rags?”

“Of course.” And a minute later he had a bowl of warm, soapy water and another of clean water, and a stack of clean cloth. He knew without asking that the water was Holy Water, which would also help Abigail. Cas removed that silly trench coat of his and took off his tie before rolling back the sleeves of his shirt and getting a cloth wet to help Dean.

“You don’t have to, Cas. I can handle it.”

“I want to.” Blue, blue eyes looked at him sadly, and he watched as Cas carefully and tenderly washed Abigail’s face and hair. “I…I need to. Dean.”

“Okay. I could use a hand.” He just smiled and gave Cas’s wrist a squeeze.

“What did she do, Dean?”

“Took on a couple of demons over in Goodland.”

“By herself?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled, “Wasn’t expecting it from a sixteen-year-old, but…damn, Cas, you should’ve seen ‘er.”

“Who was it?”

“Ophiel and a couple of her goons. Pretty sure she won’t be bothering us or anyone else again.”

“It was Ophiel!”

“Yep.”

“Dean…she hunts Nephilim for sport!” Cas paled, his eyes went wide with fear. Dean didn’t blame him.

“And our young miss showed her a what-for. Bare-handed, I might add.”

“She did _what_?!”

“You heard me. Bare-handed, she takes on Ophiel, from her knees, and just ends her. Lit her up like a circuit, smoke n’ all. Then she grabs her Angel Blade and ganks the other two assholes without blinking. I thought I’d go blind, kind of did.” He and Sam barely had time to shield their eyes before the whole place lit up with Abigail’s Grace, Dean wasn’t going to forget _that_ anytime soon, thank you very much. “She smoked three demons by herself, and she’s barely sixteen.”

“And you brought her back to The Bunker.”                                 

“Yep.”

“Abigail.” Cas stroked Abigail’s hair, a beautiful shade of red when it was clean, “She grew up.”

“You know ‘er, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas collected the equipment they had used caring for Abigail’s wounds for proper disposal and fetched something for her to wear. They had some of Claire’s old clothes in one of the guest-rooms, so they put her in clean, dry clothes, and put her to bed. She would sleep for a long time after expending her Grace like that. Which was really just fine, she needed the sleep, and it was safer here in The Bunker than anywhere else he could think of.

Once they had Abigail squared away, Dean took Cas and sat him down so they could talk. He pressed a bottle of beer into his Angel’s hands and sat down across from him.

“Talk to me, Cas. Tell me everything. That’s girl’s as important to you as she is to me.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because I found ‘er sleepin’ in Baby’s backseat this morning in Goodland. She just about ran off on us, but we got her to talk after feeding her up, poor kid was about starving.” He recalled the way Abigail had eaten, scarfing down everything on her plate and then some when Dean ordered more for her. “Told us she’d run from San Jose, left behind her family. Said they didn’t love her, didn’t want her, and probably wouldn’t miss her anytime soon because her baby brother had given her father the son he’d always wanted.” Apparently, they had missed her, a “Have You Seen Me?” bulletin had gone out with all of her information on it.

“This went out yesterday.” He showed Cas the bulletin.

“Did Robert McClaine ever _hurt_ her?”

“I don’t…think so? Couldn’t really say, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Why?”

“I left…I left her there, Dean. I left her at that house and walked away from her! I was…afraid, I knew what happened to Nephilim! If anyone knew she wasn’t… _normal_ …”

“Cas, is…is Abigail your daughter?” That would actually make sense. Sort of. Castiel hadn’t possessed Jimmy Novak until 2008, and Abigail, according to her driver’s permit, had been born in 2002. Dean knew next to nothing about Cas’s former vessels, but he knew the Angel had possessed women on more than one occasion. Had one of those vessels encountered Robert McClaine, had sex with him, and gotten pregnant? And how long had Cas possessed the vessel? Apparently long enough to have carried a full, healthy pregnancy and given birth to a Nephilim child who had grown up in despicable conditions and still thrived.

“How old was Abigail when you left?”

“She was two. I made Lucy promise to love her and take care of her.”

“And they didn’t. The McClaine’s treated her like a leper, almost.” It made him so angry to think of what Abigail had suffered for so long.

“I’m…so sorry, Dean.”

“Cas, don’t you apologise. Your daughter is smart, pretty, and she needs you. She needs _us_. I didn’t say yes because you made me, you know? I said it because I wanted to. And I asked because I wanted to, not because it was expected of me.”

“I don’t deserve you, Dean Winchester.”

“Yes, you do.” Dean got up and collected the empty bottles, leaning across the table to kiss his husband, “And if we’re talkin’ about deserving things? I don’t deserve _you_.”

“Dean…”

“Hey, don’t. It’s fine, alright? I promise. We do this together, got me?”

“Yeah.” Cas sagged a bit, leaning his elbows on the table, “I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“Nope. Not angry with you, sweetheart.” Dean smiled and tossed the empty bottles. “Just the bastards who made your daughter feel worthless. But she’s a good girl, she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Come on, it’s been ages since either of us slept. Let’s shut this place down and get some shut-eye.” He went around shutting off lights and powering down appliances to standby mode, made sure all of the early-warning implements were in place and operating properly, and locked up before taking Cas to bed. It had been a long couple of weeks while he and Sam had gone on a couple of hunts, so he was glad to be home and happier to be with Cas. As he fell asleep curled around his husband, Dean studied the ring on his left hand and thought about the future. He’d practically raised Sam on his own from the age of four, and Cas had experience with Claire and Jack. And they both knew what it felt like to be alone, and to have the kind of family that mattered the most. So...he was willing to give a misguided, lonely teenager like Abigail the sort of loving family she deserved, best as he could muster. And he didn’t see Sam and Gabe objecting to the idea much, either. She might have to do some work to charm Bobby, but he had the feeling the crabby old hunter was enough of a softie he'd warm up to Abigail in no time.

* * *

 


End file.
